


Winter To Winter

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, M/M, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He comes to you in winter. On a grim, merciless December day. He doesn't say a word, but the look on his face speaks volumes. He doesn't want to be here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written in March 2007 for hd_angst @ LJ.  
> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit.  
> **Pairing:** Harry/Draco (mention of past Harry/Ginny and Ginny/OMC)  
> **Warnings:** Very mild gore and implied character deaths, non-descriptive sex, angst (albeit with a hopeful ending), 2nd person narrative.

He comes to you in winter. On a grim, merciless December day. 

He doesn't say a word, but the look on his face speaks volumes. 

He doesn't want to be here. Not for one split second. 

He's only here because Snape forced him to come, and in spite of it all, he still respects his elders. 

But had it been up to him and him alone, he would have taken his chances in the endless woods with the never-ending snow. Something in his eyes that remains unspoken tells you, "Between you and the wolves, Potter, I'd rather let them tear me to pieces."

You show him to his room, the one with the blue curtains and the en-suite bathroom 

You never see him leave it and most of the time, the tray of food you place outside his door remains untouched. 

  
*****

  
In spring, she leaves you for good, though in truth, you left her first. 

A long, long time ago. 

She was a distraction, you could have put her in danger, and while a stronger love might have survived, yours did not. 

Maybe breaking up with her really was the noble thing to do. Or was that simply an excuse? 

She'll never ask and you'll never tell, and you suppose some day in the future this will all go down in history as just one of those things. 

Wringing her hands, she tells you she's been seeing someone else. He has asked her to marry him. 

You suppose you should be angry or bitter or _something._

You're not. 

That boy is no hero. He hasn't been cursed by a fate he never asked to be a part of and all things considered, you're sure everything works out better this way. 

Truly. 

Or maybe that's just your conscience reassuring you it's fine to let go and to feel somehow relieved that it's all over. 

You smile at her. You wish her well. And her Michael fellow, too. Wasn't he a Ravenclaw once? 

The front door closes behind her and you glance up to see him looking down at you from the landing. 

He sneers and he sounds almost smug as he remarks, "One by one, the rats abandon your sinking ship."

You want to smash his face in, then, but you choose to ignore him instead. 

Because he might just have a point and it's not one you'll allow yourself to consider. 

  
*****

  
You defeat Voldemort that summer. On a hot August afternoon. 

Which is rather odd, when you think about it. You always expected the dark of night and a downpour of rain. 

Not the midday sun mocking you as buzzing flies circle overhead like miniature vultures and the stench of blood, death and decay fills your nostrils amidst a grotesque display of broken wands and twisted bodies until the bright blue summer sky finally turns a nauseating shade of green. 

Eventually, you return, along with the other survivors, bruised, battered and far more shaken than relieved.

You find him sitting in the kitchen. 

He looks as astonished as you are. 

"You came back," he says. 

"Yes." 

And you stand there and look at him, but he turns his face away as if he doesn't want you to see what his eyes are trying so desperately not to tell you. 

  
*****

  
She returns in autumn, and seems happy to see him. 

They haven't found his mother yet. Chances are they never will, but at least he has his best friend back. 

She's not his girlfriend. You don't know how you know, but you can tell. You've been watching them together in the garden. 

A week later, she leaves again, but he doesn't join her. 

You wonder why, and technically, you have a right to know. He is, after all, only your guest here. 

But the question might make him feel unwelcome, cause him to him leave, so you don't breathe a word. 

More and more people around you are returning home. They have lives to get on with. 

You stay right where you are. A destiny fulfilled and not a clue what will come next. 

You suppose Malfoy's facing a similar predicament. Well, save for the destiny part. His didn't quite work out as planned. 

  
*****

  
It's the first of November, almost winter again. 

He brings in fresh logs for the fire. 

You look up from your book. He smiles at you. It's just a small, guarded, tentative smile. But it's a world of difference from the smirks and sneers he used to throw your way. 

"It's getting chilly again," he remarks. 

"Yeah," you say. 

He'll go up to his room again soon. 

Something tells you to stop him. Just this once. You rise from your chair. "Malfoy?"

He frowns. 

"Do you ever get lonely?"

He gives you a puzzled look. "Lonely?"

You walk up to him and you kiss him, then, because you're sure that something you thought you just saw in his eyes wants you to, and when he kisses you back, it tastes like life and battlefields and it's sweet and bitter and past and future and it's the question and the answer and you wonder how things could make so much and so little sense all at the same time. 

You don't know whose bedroom you end up in, but that's just a minor detail anyway. 

The room is pitch black. You don't turn on the lights because there are some things you don't want to see, need to see or are quite ready to deal with yet. 

Your scars, the scar you gave him last year or the look on his face when he comes. 

When it's over, tears mingle with sweat and you can't help but wonder if he ever cries about things that might have been but never were and never will be, not in this lifetime. 

"Shh," he whispers. "It's only pain." 

And you almost laugh because that's such an odd, messed up kind of thing to say. 

Until you realise he's right. You could have lost. You could have perished and dragged an entire world down with you. 

But you didn't. And so this is nothing to cry about. 

You've just begun to heal. You're only learning to live again. 

  
*****

  
The following morning, you expect to find him gone. 

He's down in the kitchen instead, making you breakfast. 

"Toast?"

He'll probably burn it again, the way he always does, but you nod anyway. 

You suppose you'll have to talk about this some day. 

Or maybe you don't. There's no one here to answer to but yourselves and each other. 

He sits down across from you. The toast he offers you seems fine, and he tells you the weather outside looks like snow again. 


	2. One Month Later

Draco seems to spend every night in your room lately, but it's not a development the two of you ever discuss.   
  
It's just something that happens, and you’re afraid mentioning it or even giving it a name might do irreparable damage, completely shatter this fragile thing you’ve begun.   
  
Assuming it actually _is_ a beginning.   
  
Truthfully, you're not entirely sure.   
  
So much is still left unsaid between the two of you.   


* * *

  
  
When you wake up that morning, you’re in bed alone.   
  
You put on your glasses, you look around the room, and you spot him by the window.   
  
He's sitting there motionless, a letter clasped tightly in his right hand. It must have been delivered earlier, though you never heard the owl come and go.   
  
You’ve been sleeping very well recently, feeling more snug and secure in the arms of your childhood nemesis than you've ever felt anywhere else, and isn’t life funny that way sometimes?   
  
You get out of bed, you put on your robe, and you slowly walk towards him.   
  
"Important news?" you ask – softly, so as not to startle him.   
  
Judging from the contemplative look on his face, you think you already know the answer. He seems miles away and you can't tell whether that's a good or a bad sign   
  
"Mother wrote me a letter," he says. "She's in the South of France. She’s been there for a while, apparently, and she’d like me to join her."   
  
"Oh" is all you manage to utter and you swallow a thick, unexpected lump in your throat.   
  
"What do you reckon, Potter?"   
  
"Well, I..."   
  
You bite your bottom lip. You wish you could say what you really think, how you _actually_ feel, but you've always found emotions awkward to talk about, and so no matter how intimate the two of you have become on other levels, here and now, you can't bring yourself to admit to Mal- Draco that you love him.   
  
Besides, deep down you're still a Gryffindor, which means that at a time like this, your only option is to do the noble thing, even if that means breaking your own heart in the process.   
  
So you try to ignore that sinking feeling in your gut as you reply, "She's your mum, Draco. Of course you should go to her."   
  
He looks at you and a hint of hesitation flickers across his pale face.   
  
He has the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen, and you think that's a downright ridiculous sentiment to be feeling at this very moment, right when he's on the verge of leaving you forever.   
  
You no longer expected him to go. Not since he stayed after the first night. Not when he kept coming back to your bed, sometimes just to cuddle close to you and sleep.   
  
It wasn't just about sex. You can be sure of that, at least. Can't you?   
  
But you probably should have kept in mind as well that everyone always leaves you in the end, either by their own volition or at the hand of some cruel fate.   
  
Why did you even assume it would be different with him?   
  
"Will you-" he says softly, breaking a silence that's thick and almost painful. "Will you be coming with me?"   
  
"What?" you exclaim in confusion.   
  
He looks at you like he wants to - no, _needs_ to say something. He takes your hand. "I won’t be going there on my own," he continues in a broken whisper. "I... I can't."   
  
Again, you find yourself lost for words, because you're really complete rubbish at this sort of thing, so rather than speak, you throw your arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace, resting your head against his shoulder.   
  
"Funny how I can't even function properly anymore unless you're around, Potter," he says and chuckles softly.   
  
Your stomach seems to do a little flip and you're certain he can feel the way your heart hammers in your chest in response to what he almost said.   
  
"Yes, well..." You take a deep breath. "I'm no good without you either, Draco.”   
  
He clings to you a little more tightly then, and you smile, feeling happy and reassured, and something resembling peace settles in your heart at last.   


****


End file.
